Thick and Thin
by liatli-1228
Summary: After Colin's death, Amy is crushed. Ephram comes to her rescue. it's gasp NOT a slash fic! lol, enjoy part 1. (totally meant to be a one part story, but i got carried away)


Title: Thick and Thin  
  
Author: Liat  
  
Disclaimer: not mine, blah blah blah  
  
~*~  
  
The funeral was beautiful. It was somber and solemn and there wasn't a dry eye in the entire town that day. The day Colin Hart was buried.  
  
The day Colin Hart was buried, Amy woke up, dressed in a beautiful new dress, ate, attended the funeral. She stayed long after everyone had left. When the air smelled of freshly churned dirt and of summer and of the town's grief. She stayed and sat in the grass, she talked aloud to herself, to Colin, to no one in particular. She stayed until Dr. Abbot sent Bright back to get her. He had to carry her to the car, where she collapsed against the seat, face streaked from the paths of tears, though her eyes were now dry, hair limp and hanging around her face in damp locks. Her dress was sticking to her in places from perspiration. They didn't talk the whole way home and the moment the car was parked, Amy got out of it, going straight into the house, straight up the stairs, straight to her bed, straight to sleep.  
  
When Amy came to, all was dark. She lay in bed for a moment, listening all around her. When she was certain no one was awake, she slipped out of her bed, out of her dress. She knew she would never wear it again. Slipping into some sweats, Amy glanced around once more before sliding her window open and climbing out into the breezy night. The weather was perfect. A last tribute to Everwood's golden boy. Silently, she walked a path as familiar as the back of her hand. The house loomed, quiet and dark, before her. She looked up at the window she had stood at so many times before. With a determined huff, Amy began to climb the trellis. The window was unlocked---as if they were expecting her---the room pitch black. She climbed through, crept towards the door to shut it softly. Satisfied that she wouldn't be discovered, Amy flicked on the lamp on the desk.  
  
The room was meticulously clean. Her eyes flitted around the room, pausing every now and then on pictures scattered upon the walls. In his last few months, Colin had liked photography. His particular favorite - black and white photos. Of her.  
  
A small, cork bulletin board was nailed to the wall over the desk and on it, stapled, tacked, taped, were tens, hundreds of pictures of her, her and him, Bright, her and Bright, him and Bright.  
  
Amy's eyes began to fill with tears as studied the pictures, so many that they overlapped twice, three times, other pictures. She lifted her hand, slender fingers stroked his face here, his naked torso there.  
  
One picture sat in the center, untouched, not covered by any others.  
  
They stood, twined together, her in a formal dress, cut low over her breasts, cinched tight at the waist, flowing past her ankles. Him dressed in a suit, jacket, bow tie, hair slicked, teeth gleaming. Amy stood there, studied the picture for what seemed like hours. His hand rested, light, possessive, on her hip. Her flowing hyacinth hair falling, like a veil, around them, caressing his cheek flushed with pleasure, with carefree happiness. His green eyes sparkled, shone with a seemingly unnatural light, a glow.  
  
Amy's breath hitched, her chest tightened painfully. She knew what it was, what made him gleam.  
  
At the dance, in that one instance of time, the Earth had stopped spinning. Time had stopped flowing. It had been only them, together in the world. No worries had plagued them, no black cloud hung over their heads, a ticking time-bomb waiting to explode, to take his life, and in doing so, shatter her world. In that moment, it had been all about them, their love, their passion for each other.  
  
No longer able to look, to see what had been, what would never again be, Amy turned from the desk, walked to the bed. With a muffled whimper, Amy perched on the corner of the bed. Her hand smoothed over the spread, her chin trembled as she lay, stomach down, cheek pressed into the soft cotton. It smelled of him. Crawling on her belly, Amy made her way up to the head of the bed where she buried her face in the pillows. More of his scent clung here. His shampoo, after-shave, cologne. A mixture of scents that should have been offensive. To her, it was heaven, sweeter even than her mother's rose garden in the spring. She didn't realize that she was crying, that tears were pouring down her cheeks, soaking the pillow, that she was sniffling, hiccuping into the pillow. And lying just like that, imagining that she could feel pressure on the mattress, warmth on her side from Colin's heavy body, Amy fell asleep.  
  
TBC. 


End file.
